


Spun Out

by A_Starcrossed_Writer



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Gideon Nav - Freeform, Gideon the Ninth - Freeform, Harrow the Ninth - Freeform, Harrowhark Nonagesimus - Freeform, I think we're all just here for Lesbian Necromancers (in space), Lord yall are gonna have to bear with me on this one, The Locked Tomb series, This is the first multichapter I've ever attempted, and been brave enough to post, have mercy, racecar driving
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26723503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Starcrossed_Writer/pseuds/A_Starcrossed_Writer
Summary: If Tamsyn can publish a book with AU's in it, I guess I can successfully write mine and post it here right? This idea came from The People's Locked Tomb discord, and I'm a slut for racing and cars and a couple of lesbians. So let's see what happens when we combine all of those things!Gideon longs for nothing more than to leave the godforsaken town of Drearburh. She isn't expecting to do so with her most despised nemesis on their way to the race of the century. A sponsorship from Lyctors Co. could be her ticket to fame and freedom. But will she be able to survive the breakneck speeds and high pressure environment? Or will being in the same space as Harrowhark kill her first?
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus, probably some others but I don't know right now
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The People's Lock Tomb Discord](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+People%27s+Lock+Tomb+Discord).



Gideon leaned into the growl of the engine underneath her, the wind screeching past her ears, sand and grit slashing at her arms. She flew over the ground like the town behind her was on fire and the barren landscape around her was an ocean. Underneath the sweltering eye of the midday sun, she embraced the only freedom she could find in the speed of the wheels on her bike. Her rides were her escape, the only time when she really allowed herself to believe in her daydreams of abandoning the godforsaken town of Drearburh and never looking back, driving forever to wherever the highway would take her… Until inevitably her bike would rattle and sputter as it did now, reminding her that she would never make it, and she was trapped.

She applied the brakes and reached the top of Top Tier Outlook, swinging the ass-end of her bike around in the same moment so she was parallel with the three hundred meter drop. Her lungs heaved in her chest as the last traces of adrenaline left her system. The wind had reduced to a mere whisper as she swept her gaze over the ramshackle, single-stop-light town she begrudgingly called home and—not for the first time in her life—contemplated what it would feel like to drive straight over the edge right in front of her. And yet, for as many times as she considered it, Gideon inevitably convinced herself to rev her Ducati back to life and drive back to her junkyard. After all, if she was gone, who would look after The Ninth Cavalier or the few vehicular artifacts it contained? Certainly nobody else in the decrepit 100-person town; they were busy trying to scrape together whatever meager living they could during their last days on Earth.

 _Fuck this place._ She throttled her engine back to a steady growl and tore back down the slope toward the town she had begun to think would be her tomb.

×_×

After making a pit stop at the lone gas station in town, Gideon made her way through the padlocked gate of The Ninth Cavalier. A junkyard to the rest of the town, but to her it was the only home she'd ever known. The place she had found refuge after her mother's abandonment and the town's resent. Her closest friends were the corpses of bygone sports cars. Personally, Gideon preferred the company of her Ducati, but cars made sufficient company when you lived in exile. Beggars, choosers and all that.

She gave a Pontiac Trans Am an affectionate pat on the hood as she passed by. "Miss me, you rusty bitch?" She chuckled at her own commentary.

Slipping her aviators off and waving her arm to activate the motion sensing lights, she stepped into the garage. The space echoed with her quietly hummed melody. Gideon only listened to the radio on the occasion that one of the old geezers had it on next to a window, or she managed to get one of the cars to start—which was to say, not often. But she was creative enough to come up with her own obnoxious tunes.

Upon entering the office, she flopped into the moth-eaten seat behind the desk and tilted her head back with a sigh. Dust-polluted sunlight was fading outside the windows, casting long shadows at weird angles. She tossed her sunglasses down on the table and heard them slide across the surface. Curious, she cracked open her eyes to see which of her magazines they were caught on. Sure enough, they say upon the image of a model, scantily clad in what could barely pass for a swimsuit, with a note taped over her legs.

 _A note?_ Gideon peeled off the paper and admired the miles of tanned skin she revealed with the motion. Turning her attention away, she scanned the note that simply read:

**Mandatory summons for one Gideon Nav to be met in the courthouse at 9 AM sharp.  
_\- Harrowhark Nonagesimus_**

Admittedly, Gideon couldn't read the signature at the bottom of the note—where had the rest of the ink even come from? There were no printers in town as far as Gideon knew. What she did know, was the fact that there was only one person in town with the time and attitude to pull this bullshit off.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus, only daughter of the deceased town mayor wanted to see her and Gideon was definitely fucked.


	2. Chapter 2

Gideon woke to the horrible sensation of drowning, if one could drown in a whole cup of water. Upon flinging her slightly damp hair from her eyes, she was presented with the sight of an irritated-looking Harrow holding a suspicious-looking cup. Unfortunately, now she was terrified for a whole new reason which did nothing for the racing of her heartrate. In spite of her petrified situation, Gideon leaned back in the chair—carefully, considering the ragged state of the thing. She slung her arms behind her head and raised a brow at Harrow in what Gideon hoped was a nonchalant expression.  


“Morning Nonagesimus! Interesting wake-up call. Was the water an attempt to cool me down because I’m so banging hot?”  


That earned her a glare. “You’re late, Nav.”  


Gideon glanced out of the window at the morning sun, which seemed awfully close to the horizon for Harrow to be showing up irate, “It can’t be that late.”  


“It’s 9:05.”  


It took every ounce of self-restraint Gideon had not to roll her eyes, though she wasn’t sure why she bothered. The loathing between the two of them was mutual. 

“Oh, forgive me for my transgressions mistress of Drearburh! How can I ever make it up to you?”  


Harrow spoke with little to no inflection. “Are you coherent enough to listen to the proposal I have to offer?”  


“Proposal? Nonagesimus, this is all moving a little fast for me but okay.” Gideon still had no fucking clue what Harrow was talking about, but enjoyed the slight twitch of her upper lip—the beginnings of a sneer—when Gideon started to confess, “You must know that you can offer me no greater reward than the warmth of your love, which is the deepest desire of my heart and I shall seek no other—”  


The calm veneer finally cracked. “Enough Griddle!” Harrow barked. She threw the red cup in her hand into the waste bin with surprising accuracy. And Gideon was about to make some brilliantly witty comment when Harrow went on, “I came prepared to offer your only potential opportunity for freedom. However, given your complete lack of interest, I am inclined to rescind my efforts.”  


Gideon severely doubted that. The wicked girl had done nothing but thwart and discourage all of Gideon’s attempts to escape Drearburh. The idea that Harrow would become Gideon’s savior was ridiculous. Gideon couldn’t stop the eye-roll this time. “Yeah right. What chance of freedom could you possibly grant me?”  


Harrow merely held up a piece of paper, which Gideon was going to ignore until she saw the logo at the top of it. And damn if Harrow didn’t notice the exact moment Gideon’s expression changed. “This, is a letter of invitation from Lyctors Corporate. They’re looking to replace one of their racing teams.”  


_Where the hell had Harrow gotten that?_ Lyctors Corporate was a legendary sponsor. In the entire history of the company, they had only had nine teams and all of them were trophy winners. Only three of those teams had been seen in recent history, the rest had retired or crashed spectacularly and some had simply… disappeared, leaving their ends to become legends and myths for admirers such as Gideon to ponder over. Many of her daydreams consisted of witnessing, even participating in some of the most famous races in LC’s history—not that she would ever say that out loud.  


Gideon was still processing all of this as she shrugged, “And this town was home to one of their deceased drivers, so they felt obligated to reach out, on the off-chance that anyone here still gave a shit about racing? Seems like a stretch, don’t you think?”  


“A stretch it might be. But there is no other driver here, more suitable for this task. And I want a shot at that open spot, Nav.” There was a flicker in the depths of Harrow’s ebony eyes that Gideon had rarely seen. If she had dwelled on it for more than a moment, she might have even called it desperation.  


Gideon chuckled. “I’m flattered, Nonagesimus. But we both know I’m just the only person besides you who isn’t dead or dying in this good-for-nothing town. And you seem to have forgotten one detail: _I don’t give a shit what you want.”_  


At her wit’s end, Harrow threw the last punch she had left, “Too bad. I already informed them that I would be accepting their invitation with you as my driver.”  


“How would you pull that off, wouldn’t that require my signature?”  


“I forged it.”  


“Alright bitch, consider this: I hate cars.” It was true. For as often as she imagined herself on a racetrack, Gideon had always preferred being able to see and feel the engine of her Ducati beneath her. Most of the cars in the lot weren’t worth driving anyway; years of rust and dust had turned them into mere skeletons of metal. 

Even still… Gideon could feel her interest in Harrow’s proposition growing.  


“And yet you live in a junkyard, surrounded by them.” Harrow’s tone was ever-so-slightly less scathing, which meant she knew she was winning.  


“Only because I refuse to pay rent to live anywhere else.” Also true. Gideon drew satisfaction from knowing she wasn’t contributing to the upkeep of the hellscape that was Drearburh.  


Now it was Harrow’s turn to roll her eyes. “Yes, I’m well aware. You’re coming with me to Canaan, Indiana. Surely there is a car somewhere in this godforsaken lot that you can drive?”  


_“Maybe._ If we’re lucky enough to find one.” Gideon had already started a list in her mind of all the potential candidates for her future racecar.  


“Better get to looking then, Griddle. We leave on Monday.”  


_“You’re giving me a weekend’s notice, bitch?”_


End file.
